``'Ah oui, c'est qu'elle est belle avec ces châteaux forts,
``Couchés dans les près verts, comme les géants morts!
``C'est qu'elle est noble, Alger la fille du corsaire!
``Un réseau de murs blancs la protège et l'enserre.'=
[Illustration: 9035]
HE first view of the town of Algiers, with its pretty clusters of white
houses set in bright green hills, or as the French express it, 'like
a diamond set in emeralds,' the range of the lesser Atlas forming a
background of purple waves rising one above the other until they are
lost in cloud--was perhaps the most beautiful sight we had witnessed,
and it is as well to record it at once, lest the experience of the next
few hours might banish it from memory.
It was a good beginning to have a stately barefooted Arab to shoulder
our baggage from the port, and wonderful to see the load he carried
unassisted. * As he winds his way through the narrow and steep slippery
streets (whilst we who are shod by a Hoby and otherwise encumbered by
broadcloth, have enough to do to keep pace with him, and indeed to keep
our footing), it is good to see how nobly our Arab bears his load, how
beautifully balanced is his lithe figure, and with what grace and ease
he stalks along. As he slightly bows, when taking our three francs
(his 'tariff' as he calls it), there is a dignity in his manner, and
a composure about him that is almost embarrassing. How he came, in the
course of circumstances, to be carrying our luggage instead of wandering
with his tribe, perhaps civilization--French civilization--can answer.
* It is generally admitted, we believe, that a vegetable
diet will not produce heroes,' and there is certainly a
prejudice in England about the value of beef for navvies and
others who put muscular power into their work. It is an
interesting fact to note, and one which we think speaks
volumes for the climate of Algeria, that this gentleman
lives almost entirely on fruit, rice, and Indian corn.
The first hurried glance (as we followed our cicerone up the landing
steps to the 'Hôtel de la Régence,' which faces the sea) at the
dazzlingly white flat-roofed houses without windows, at the mosques with
their gaily painted towers, at the palm-trees and orange-trees, and
at the crowd of miscellaneous costumes in which colour preponderated
everywhere, gave the impression of a thorough Mahommedan city; and now
as we walk down to the _Place_ and look about us at leisure, we find
to our astonishment and delight that the Oriental element is still most
prominent.
The most striking and bewildering thing is undoubtedly the medley
that meets the eye everywhere: the conflict of races, the contrast of
colours, the extraordinary brightness of everything, the glare, the
strange sounds and scenes that cannot be easily taken in at a first
visit; the variety of languages heard at the same time, and above
all the striking beauty of some faces, and the luxurious richness of
costume.
First in splendour come the Moors (traders looking like princes),
promenading or lounging about under the trees, looking as important and
as richly attired as was ever Caliph Haroun Alraschid.
They are generally fair and slight of figure, with false effeminate
faces, closely-shaven heads covered with fez and turban, loose baggy
trousers, jacket and vest of blue or crimson cloth, embroidered with
gold; round their waists are rich silken sashes, and their fingers are
covered with a profusion of rings. Their legs are often bare and their
feet are enclosed in the usual Turkish slipper.
This is the prominent town type of Moor or Jew, the latter to be
distinguished by wearing dark trousers, clean white stockings, French
shoes, and a round cloth cap of European pattern. There are various
grades, both of the Moors and Jews, some of course shabby and dirty
enough; but the most dignified and picturesque figures are the tall
dark Arabs and the Kabyles, with their flowing white bournouses, their
turbans of camel's hair, and their independent noble bearing. Here we
see them walking side by side with their conquerors in full military
uniform and their conquerors' wives in the uniform of _Le Follet_,
whilst white-robed female figures flit about closely veiled, and
Marabouts (the Mahom-medan priests) also promenade in their flowing
robes. Arab women and children lounge about selling fruit or begging
furtively, and others hurry to and fro carrying burdens; and everywhere
and ever present in this motley throng, the black frock-coat and
chimney-pot hat assert themselves, to remind us of what we might
otherwise soon be forgetting,--that we are but four days' journey from
England.
There is noise enough altogether on the _Place_ to bewilder any
stranger; for besides the talking and singing, and the cries of vendors
of fruit and wares, there is considerable traffic. Close to us as we sit
under the trees, (so close as almost to upset the little tables in front
of the cafés), without any warning, a huge diligence will come lunging
on to the _Place_ groaning under a pile of merchandise, with a bevy
of Arabs on the roof, and a party of Moorish women in the 'rotonde';
presently there passes a company of Zouaves at quick step, looking hot
and dusty enough, marching to their terrible tattoo; and next, by way
of contrast again, come two Arab women with their children, mounted on
camels, the beasts looking overworked and sulky; they edge their way
through the crowd with the greatest nonchalance, and with an impatient
croaking sound go shambling past.
The 'Place Royale' faces the north, and is enclosed on three sides with
modern French houses with arcades and shops, and when we have time to
examine their contents, we shall find them also principally French. Next
door to a bonnet-shop there is certainly the name of Mustapha over the
door, and in the window are pipes, coral, and filagree work exposed
for sale; but most of the goods come from France. Next door again is
a French café, where Arabs, who can afford it, delight in being waited
upon by their conquerors with white aprons and neck-ties.
The background of all this is superb: a calm sunlit sea, white sails
glittering and flashing, and far to the eastward a noble bay, with the
Kabyle mountains stretching out their arms towards the north.
At four o'clock the band plays on the _Place_, and as we sit and watch
the groups of Arabs and Moors listening attentively to the overture to
'William Tell,' or admiringly examining the gay uniforms and medals of
the Chasseurs d'Afrique--as we see the children of both nations at high
romps together--as the sweet sea-breeze that fans us so gently, bears
into the newly constructed harbour together, a corvette of the Imperial
Marine and a suspicious-looking raking craft with latteen sails--as
Marochetti's equestrian statue of the Duke of Orleans, and a mosque,
stand side by side before us--we have Algiers presented to us in
the easiest way imaginable, and (without going through the ordeal of
studying its history or statistics) obtain some idea of the general
aspect of the place and of the people, and of the relative position of
conquerors and conquered.
As our business is principally with the Moorish, or picturesque side of
things, let us first look at the great Mosque which we glanced at as we
entered the harbour, and part of which we have sketched for the reader.
[Illustration: 0043]
Built close to the water's edge, so close that the Mediterranean waves
are sapping its foundations--with plain white shining walls, nearly
destitute of exterior ornament, it is perhaps 'the most perfect example
of strength and beauty, and of fitness and grace of line, that we shall
see in any building of this type. * It is thoroughly Moorish in style,
although built by a Christian, if we may believe the story, of which
there are several versions; how the Moors in old days took captive a
Christian architect, and promised him his liberty on condition of his
building them a mosque; how he, true to his own creed, dexterously
introduced into the ground plan the form of a cross; and how the Moors,
true also to their promise, gave him his liberty indeed, but at the
cannon's mouth through a window, seaward.
* This beautiful architectural feature of the town has not
escaped the civilizing hand of the Frank; the last time we
visited Algiers we found the oval window in the tower gone,
and in its place an illuminated French clock!
The general outline of these mosques is familiar to most readers,
the square white walls pierced at intervals with quaint-shaped little
windows, the flat cupola or dome, and the square tower often standing
apart from the rest of the structure as in the little vignette on our
title-page, like an Italian campanile. Some of these towers are richly
decorated with arabesque ornamentation,' and glitter in the sun with
colour and gilding, but the majority of the mosques are as plain and
simple in design as shown in our large sketch.
Here, if we take off our shoes, we may enter and hear the Koran read,
and we may kneel down to pray with Arabs and Moors; religious tolerance
is equally exercised by both creeds. Altogether the Mahommedan places
of worship seem by far the most prominent, and although there is a Roman
Catholic church and buildings held by other denominations of Christians,
there is none of that predominant proselytizing aspect which we might
have expected after thirty years' occupation by the French! At Tetuan,
for instance, where the proportion of Christians to Mahommedans is
certainly smaller, the 'Catholic church' rears its head much more
conspicuously.
In Algiers the priestly element is undoubtedly active, and _Soeurs de
Charité_ are to be seen everywhere, but the buildings that first strike
the eye are not churches but mosques; the sounds that become more
familiar to the ear than peals of bells, are the Muezzin's morning and
evening salutation from the tower of a mosque, calling upon all true
believers to--=
```'Come to prayers, come to prayers,
```It is better to pray than to sleep.'=
The principal streets in Algiers lead east and west from the _Place_ to
the principal gates, the Bab-Azoun and the Bab-el-Oued. They are for the
most part French, with arcades like the Rue de Rivoli in Paris; many of
the houses are lofty and built in the style perhaps best known as
the 'Haussman.' Nearly all the upper town is still Moorish, and is
approached by narrow streets or lanes,--steep, slippery, and tortuous, *
which we shall examine by-and-bye.
* It may be interesting to artists to learn that in this
present year 1868, most of the quaint old Moorish streets
and buildings are intact--neither disturbed by earthquakes
nor 'improved' out of sight.
The names of some of the streets are curious, and suggestive of change.
Thus we see the 'Rue Royale,' the 'Rue Impériale there is, or was until
lately, a 'Place Nationale,' and one street is still boldly proclaimed
to be the 'Rue dé la Révolution'!
In passing through the French quarter, through the new wide streets,
squares and inevitable boulevards, the number of shops for fancy goods
and Parisian wares, especially those of hairdressers and modistes, seems
rather extraordinary; remembering that the entire European population
of Algeria, agricultural as well as urban, is not much more than that
of Brighton. In a few shops there are tickets displayed in different
languages, but linguists are rare, and where there are announcements of
the labels have generally a perplexing, composite character, like the
inscription on a statue at the Paris Exhibition of 1867, which ran thus
'Miss Ofelia dans Amlet.'
Before we proceed further, let us glance at the general mode of living
in Algiers, speaking first of the traveller who goes to the hotels.
The ordinary visitor of a month or two will drop down pleasantly enough
into the system of hotel life in Algiers; and even if staying for the
winter he will probably find it more convenient and amusing to take his
meals in French fashion at the hotels, ringing the changes between three
or four of the best, and one or two well-known cafés, There is generally
no table-d'hôte, but strangers can walk in and have breakfast or dine
very comfortably at little tables '_a part_,' at a fixed hour and at a
moderate price. The rooms are pleasant, cool, and airy, with large
windows open to the sea.
Everything is neatly and quietly served, the menu is varied enough, with
good French dishes and game in abundance; the hosts being especially
liberal in providing those delicious little birds that might be larks or
quails,--which in Algiers we see so often on the table and so seldom on
the wing.
````INGLIS
````SPOKEN.=
Half the people that are dining at the 'Hôtel d'Orient' to-day are
residents or habitués; they come in and take their accustomed places as
cosily, and are almost as particular and fastidious, as if they were at
their club.
There is the colonel of a cavalry regiment dining alone, and within
joking distance, five young officers, whose various grades of rank are
almost as evident from their manner as from the number of stripes on
their bright red kepis ranged on the wall of the salon. A French
doctor and his wife dine vis-à-vis, at one table, a lady _solitaire_ at
another; some gentlemen, whose minds are tuned to commerce, chatter in a
corner by themselves; whilst a group of newly-arrived English people in
the middle of the room, are busily engaged in putting down the various
questions with which they intend to bore the viceconsul on the morrow,
as if he were some good-natured house-agent, valet-de-place, and
interpreter in one, placed here by Providence for their especial behoof.
But it is all very orderly, sociable, and comfortable, and by no means
an unpleasant method of living for a time.
There is the _cercle_, the club, at which we may dine sometimes; there
are those pretty little villas amongst the orange-trees at Mustapha
Supérieure, where we may spend the most delightful evenings of all; and
there are also the Governor's weekly balls, soirées at the consulate,
and other pleasant devices for turning night into day, in Algiers as
everywhere else--which we shall be wise if we join in but sparingly.
And there are public amusements, concerts, balls, and the theatre--the
latter with a company of operatic singers with weak lungs, but voices
as sweet as any heard in Italy; and there are the moonlight walks by the
sea, to many the greatest delight of all.
The ordinary daily occupations are decidedly social and domestic; and
it may be truly said that for a stranger, until he becomes accustomed to
the place, there is very little going on.
You must not bathe, for instance, on this beautiful shelving shore.
'Nobody bathes, it gives fever,' was the invariable answer to enquiries
on this subject, and though it is not absolutely forbidden by the
faculty, there are so many restrictions imposed upon bathers that few
attempt it; moreover, an Englishman is not likely to have brought an
acrobatic suit with him, nor will he easily find a 'costume de bain' in
Algiers.
There is very little to do besides wander about the town, or make
excursions in the environs or into the interior (in which latter case it
is as well to take a fowling-piece, as there is plenty of game to be met
with); and altogether we may answer a question often asked about Algiers
as to its attractions for visitors, that it has not many (so called),
for the mere holiday lounger.
But for those who have resources of their own, for those who have work
to do which they wish to do quietly, and who breathe more freely under a
bright blue sky, Algiers seems to us to be _the_ place to come to.
The 'bird of passage,' who has unfortunately missed an earthquake, often
reports that Algiers is a little dull; but even he should not find it
so, for beyond the 'distractions' we have hinted at, there is plenty to
amuse him if he care little for what is picturesque. There are (or were
when we were there), a troop of performing Arabs of the tribe of 'Beni
Zouzoug,' who performed nightly the most hideous atrocities in the name
of religious rites: wounding their wretched limbs with knives, eating
glass, holding burning coals in their mouths, standing on hot iron
until the feet frizzled and gave forth sickening odours, and doing other
things in an ecstacy of religious frenzy which we could not print, and
which would scarcely be believed in if we did. *
* Since writing the above, we observe that these Arabs (or a
band of mountebanks in their name), have been permitted to
perform their horrible orgies in Paris and London, and that
young ladies go in evening dress to the 'stalls' to witness
them.
There are various Moorish ceremonies to be witnessed. There are the
sacrifices at the time of the Ramadhan, when the negro priestesses go
down to the water side and offer up beasts and birds; the victims, after
prolonged agonies which crowds assemble to witness, being finally handed
over to a French _chef de cuisine_.
There are the mosques to be entered barefoot, and the native courts of
law to be seen. Then if possible, a Moor should be visited at home, and
a glimpse obtained of his domestic economy, including a dinner without
knives or forks.
An entertainment consisting entirely of Moorish dances and music is
easily got up, and is one of the characteristic sights of Algiers. The
young trained dancing girls, urged on to frenzy by the beating of the
tom-tom, and falling exhausted at last into the arms of their masters;
(dancing with that monotonous motion peculiar to the East, the body
swaying to and fro without moving the feet); the uncouth wild airs they
sing, their shrieks dying away into a sigh or moan, will not soon be
forgotten, and many other scenes of a like nature, on which we must not
dwell--for are they not written in twenty books on Algeria already?
But there are two sights which are seldom mentioned by other writers,
which we must just allude to in passing.
The Arab races, which take place in the autumn on the French racecourse
near the town, are very curious, and well worth seeing. Their
peculiarity consists in about thirty Arabs starting off pell-mell,
knocking each other over in their first great rush, their bournouses
mingling together and flying in the wind, but arriving at the goal
generally singly, and at a slow trot, in anything but racing fashion.
Another event is the annual gathering of the tribes, when
representatives from the various provinces camp on the hills of the
Sahel, and the European can wander from one tent to another and spend
his day enjoying Arab hospitality, in sipping coffee and smoking
everywhere the pipe of peace.
These things we only hint at as resources for visitors, if they are
fortunate enough to be in Algiers at the right time; but there are one
or two other things that they are not likely to miss, whether they wish
to do so or not.
They will probably meet one day, in the 'Street of the Eastern Gate,'
the Sirocco wind, and they will have to take shelter from a sudden
fearful darkness and heat, a blinding choking dust, drying up as it were
the very breath of life; penetrating every cavity, and into rooms closed
as far as possible from the outer air. Man and beast lie down before
it, and there is a sudden silence in the streets, as if they had been
overwhelmed by the sea. For two or three hours this mysterious blight
pours over the city, and its inhabitants hide their heads.
Another rather startling sensation for the first time is the 'morning
gun.' In the consulate, which is in an old Moorish house in the upper
town, the newly arrived visitor may have been shown imbedded in the wall
a large round shot, which he is informed was a messenger from one of
Lord Exmouth's three-deckers in the days before the French occupation;
and not many yards from it, in another street, he may have had pointed
out to him certain fissures or chasms in the walls of the houses, as the
havoc made by earthquakes; he may also have experienced in his travels
the sudden and severe effect of a tropical thunderstorm.
Let him retire to rest with a dreamy recollection of such events in his
mind, and let him have his windows open towards the port just before
sunrise,--when the earthquake, and the thunder, and the bombardment,
will present themselves so suddenly and fearfully to his sleepy senses,
that he will bear malice and hatred against the military governor for
evermore.
But it has roused him to see some of the sights of Algiers. Let him go
out at once to the almost deserted _Place_, where a few tall figures
wrapped in military cloaks are to be seen quietly sidling out of a door
in the corner of a square under the arcades,--coming from the club where
the gas is not quite extinguished, and where the little green baize
tables are not yet put away for the night; * and then let him hurry out
by the _Bab-el-Oued_ and mount the fortifications, and he will see a
number of poor Arabs shivering in their white bournouses, perched on the
highest points of the rocks like eagles, watching with eager eyes and
strained aspect for the rising of the sun, for the coming of the second
Mahomet. Let him look in the same direction, eastward, over the town
and over the bay to the mountains far beyond. The sparks from the
chariot-wheels of fire just fringe the outline of the Kabyle Hills, and
in another minute, before all the Arabs have clambered up and reached
their vantage ground, the whole bay is in a flood of light. The Arabs
prostrate themselves before the sun, and '_Allah il Allah_' (God is
great) is the burden of their psalm of praise.
* How often have we seen in the Tuileries gardens, the
bronzed heroes of Algerian wars, and perhaps have pitied
them for their worn appearance; but we shall begin to think
that something more than the African sun and long marches
have given them a prematurely aged appearance, and that
absinthe and late hours in a temperature of 90° Fahrenheit
may have something to do with it.
But Mahomet's coming is not yet, and so they return down the hill, and
crowd together to a very different scene. The officers whom we saw
just now leaving the _Place_, have arrived at the Champ de Mars, the
drill-ground immediately below us, and here, in the cool morning air,
they are exercising and manoeuvring troops. There are several companies
going through their drill, and the bugle and the drum drown the
Muezzins' voices, who, from almost every mosque and turret in the city,
repeat their cry to the faithful to 'Come to prayers.'
[Illustration: 0061]
[Illustration: 0063]